


Just a Saturday Morning

by msermesth



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bearded Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Hand Jobs, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), What-If?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/pseuds/msermesth
Summary: For the first time in a while, Steve and Tony have the morning all to themselves.And it wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for the events of two years ago.





	Just a Saturday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janonny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janonny/gifts).



> Prompt: Steve and Tony fall in love before the events of Civil War and they get together. This results in the fallout between the Avengers in Civil War not occurring at all and the team makes it through still together.
> 
> This is one of those prompts that gets in your head and then you have to write it out. What _if_ Steve and Tony found a way through the events of Civil War? What would that look like? What would that _mean_?
> 
> I tried to figure it out, at least.
> 
> Thanks to [sheron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/) for such wonderful beta help. It made a huge different, you have no idea.

  **Now**

The alarm chimes, silent to anyone without super soldier hearing, and Steve knows from memory how far he needs to reach in order to shut it off. He feels a moment of panic in which he’s sure something is wrong—but the alarm fades away, and he can hear his husband’s gentle snores. Everything is okay.

It’s Saturday; Tony and him have nothing planned. Later, Steve expects Peter to stop by after his field trip, even if he never actually said he would. But now, he contemplates turning over, skipping his run, and falling back asleep. Maybe if he waits, he can convince Tony to join him and they can eat bagels in the park and pretend for a moment that Tony doesn’t have a trip to Mumbai tomorrow and Steve isn’t coordinating an off-the-books extraction of a political prisoner from Russia on Tuesday.

They chose this life. They choose it every day, again and again and again.

But this morning, Steve is choosing to lay on this bed that’s a little too comfortable for his tastes, even if he’ll never say it outloud because it provides Tony just the right amount of support for his back. He’s choosing to forgo his daily run because he likes the warmth of the sunlight through the tower’s floor to ceiling window.

He’s choosing to take this morning to appreciate what he has.

 

* * *

 

**Then**

Steve read the paragraph in front of him three times, and each time he understood it only a little more. There were so many ‘shall’s and ‘must’s and ‘may’s, he wasn’t entirely sure if this clause was telling him that he would be expected to receive clearance from the Security Council if a situation escalated, even if they had already been authorized to engage. Sam and Rhodey were arguing right behind him and Steve tried to simultaneously listen to them and read this small portion of the Accords, again.

While Tony had warned him that something like this was going to happen, weeks ago while they laid next to each other and caught their breath, Steve felt a little blindsided to be seeing the actual language three days before the Secretary of State expected him to sign. Steve looked at Tony, lying exhausted on the couch and doing that twitching thing he did when he had a headache. Tony looked up and caught his eye. “Did you read this?” Steve asked and lifted the massive tome to indicate what he was talking about.

“A little. The language wasn’t finalized till Ross called this morning, but my legal team is going over it with a fine tooth comb. I didn’t realize that they’d schedule the signing so soon.” Tony looked just a touch guilty at that and that settled a strange irrational voice in Steve head that kept telling him Tony was springing this on all of them, when in reality Tony felt just as put-upon as the rest of them. Tony stood up and rubbed his temples with his fingers. Steve knew that face he was wearing.

Tony had made a decision. Steve needed to know. “And?”

“It’s the right thing. These Accords…” Tony began to say as he walked over to the kitchen. He looked older than Steve remembered from the last time Steve had slept over in the Tower. “We need to do something. They may not be perfect, but given the time crunch we’re dealing with here, I think signing is the best option.” He fiddled with the French press Steve was sure only Tony actually used. “What about you, Steve?”

Steve thumbed through the law. “I’m not sure about it yet.”

Tony ground his teeth and measured out coffee beans. “Of course. It would be too easy if you agreed with me,” Tony said sarcastically. The rest of the room remained silent. Steve had the impression that the other Avengers felt they were now watching a personal argument.

“You said it yourself, they aren’t perfec—”

“They’re the best we have.”

“We need more time.”

“More time will just make it more complicated, introduce too many potential players.” Tony sighed and braced himself against the counter with both hands. “What would more time do? Why is this decision so hard for you?”

Steve snapped the Accords shut, threw it on the coffee table in front of him, and stood up. “Because New York Public Schools didn’t teach international law in 1934."

This thing between him and Tony was so fragile and new and unspoken, nothing more than six months of trips to the Tower with excuses to cover up the fact that Steve didn’t know how to say, ‘I’d like to take you to dinner sometime.’ (And yet, Tony still found a way to say yes to every unspoken question.) It was _something_ , Steve knew he wasn’t imagining it, but it seemed to be a dream. A dream dangerously close to disappearing in this argument.

Steve’s phone vibrated at his hip. Normally, he would have ignored it, but it was a welcome distraction from the way Tony was looking at him. But as soon as he read the message, all his relief turned sour. _She’s gone. In her sleep_. The words ran together over and over and over again and he felt his center of gravity pulling backward and down. His throat tightened, his eyes stung with tears, and there was a real physical pain in his chest. “I have to go.”

Everyone in the room watched him as he fled to the stairwell, he knew that by their silence, but he had to leave anyway. At least, out here, there were no arguments or anyone waiting for his judgement; he could try and wrap his mind around the immensity of what happened.

Peggy.

Gone.

Steve curled up against himself. His muscles tensed with the stress of repressing tears and it was only that tension that was keeping him upright.

What was he going to do?

He knew, of course. There would be a funeral and some sort of reception. _London_ , he thought, _I have to make plans to go to London_. He would dig out his nice suit. Maybe he could help with arrangements. Maybe he could help with _something_. He should call Peggy’s family back and see if there was anything he could do.

Details about flowers and reservations bounced around in his mind, and every time he thought about _Peggy, gone_ , he focused on those things instead.

The door slammed above him and the echo amplified it until the sound vibrated against the metal railing Steve was leaning against. Footsteps on concrete followed, forcing Streve to stand up straight and hope that whoever was running down the stairs had something better to do than stop and talk to him.

They didn’t, because Tony never learned when to leave him alone. “What was that? I’ve never known you to walk away from a fight.” Tony asked, his tone displaying a certain repressed annoyance that made it clear Tony was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Steve flinched. Steve kept his eyes down because he needed just a little time away from the argument happening upstairs, but Tony didn’t get that message and wedged himself close enough to Steve that Steve had to look at Tony’s eyes and not the floor. That’s when Tony must have realized something wasn’t right. “Wait...Steve. What happened?” he asked, and lifted his hand so that he could thumb away a wayward tear. Steve opened his mouth, but he couldn’t form the words _she’s dead_ , and Tony only watched him flounder for so long until he twisted to grab the phone out of Steve’s hand.”

“It’s…” he didn’t finish. He wasn’t sure why he tried to say anything in the first place.

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve and held tight while Steve just stood there, stupefied and confused. “I’m so sorry.”

Steve heard those words and they jumbled together with all of his other thoughts. They didn’t necessarily make it better, but after awhile they gave him the strength to lift his own arms and pull Tony closer.

 

* * *

 

**Now**

Steve wakes up to Tony stirring beside him; the mattress barely bends under his weight as Tony leaves the bed. When he returns minutes later, Tony smiles when he sees Steve is awake—he’s sleepy, but rested—and Steve can’t remember the last time they had a morning like this. So, when Tony sits back down on the bed, Steve wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him down and close. “Good morning,” he whispers into Tony’s ear, his beard brushing Tony’s cheek.

Tony twists in his grip, just enough that he can maneuver his face near Steve’s and asks, “How’d you sleep?.”

Steve kisses him, quick and feather-light, and mumbles against his lips, “Good. You?”

Tony kisses back and there is more intention in the way he does it. Steve loosens his hold just enough so Tony can turn one-hundred-and-eighty degrees in his arms and look comfortably at him. “Okay. What’s the plan for today?”

Steve breaks off the kissing just enough to say, “Nothing.”

“Huh?” Tony’s eyes widen in that way they do when he’s confused. Steve doesn’t see that a lot.

“We don’t have any plans today.”

“Nothing?”

“No.” Steve makes sure it sounds final.

The side of Tony’s mouth quicks up and Steve knows what he’s going to say before he says it.

“Perfect.” Tony rolls the both of them so that he’s on top, and the mischievous glint in his eye is worth staying in bed for.

 

* * *

 

**Then**

Steve’s heart was beating so fast he was struggling to take in a full breath. _Bucky_ , he thought, _what the fuck did you do?_ The grainy security camera footage was playing over and over in his mind and he knew what was going to happen next. He knew what _always_ happened next. The phone in his hand lit up again, Tony’s face on the screen, and Steve tried to decide between cutting Tony off completely, and thus shielding him from liability, or trusting his gut and answering.

And maybe, there was a small part of himself that thought back to when he had talked to Tony about his parents' death. It may have been months ago, but Steve hadn’t forgotten every subtle emotion that passed on Tony’s face as they talked. How he got quiet everytime Steve brought up his search for Bucky didn’t go unnoticed, either.

He accepted the call and Tony started talking before Steve could bring the phone to his ear. “What the hell, Steve! It’s been forty-five minutes and you can’t answer a phone call?”

“Tony…” Steve sighed and pulled the baseball cap on his head farther down so that he could barely see out of the sunglasses.

“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Tony was pissed, that much is clear.

“I have to,” Steve responded, short and simple.

“No, you don’t. Leave this for the professional—”

“I _am_ a prefessi——”

“You’re just going to make it worse.” Steve can hear the hubbub of headquarters behind him, where all the _professionals_ were working.

Tony had left Peggy’s funeral as soon as it was over so that he could be there when the Accords went into effect. The two of them had come to an uneasy truce—Steve needed more time and Tony didn’t change his mind and they both hoped it wasn’t going to be a problem. They should have known better.

Steve bit his lip. He knew that this meant he would be making things difficult, but, “I have to, Tony.”

“Why?” Tony asked and he sounded desperate.

The guilt Steve felt clutched his heart but he denied it because he knew what he had to do. “Because I’m the least likely to die trying.”

Tony sighed on the other end of the line, and Steve could imagine him in the same suit he wore earlier today, except by now the coat would be thrown somewhere he wouldn’t be able to find later. “I know I can’t stop you, but I can’t do much to help you.” He said it like it killed him to admit.

“I’m not asking you to help.” Steve meant it. He knew what the Accords meant to Tony.

“I’ll try and do what I can,” Tony continued to say, as if he didn’t hear Steve’s response. “At least get you some cover.”

“Tony—”

“Let me—” Tony cut himself off before he could finish. “Let me protect you, ok?”

Steve searched himself for something to say to that, but nothing could match the intensity in the way Tony said it. He would just have to accept it. “I know this isn’t easy, with your parents and everything,” Steve said.

Tony was quiet on the other line and Steve waited for Tony to agree and hang up. He didn’t. “He’s your friend, and if you’re correct, an innocent man.” It came out of his mouth a little too fast, but he said it with conviction that Steve decided not to question.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered into the phone. Ten minutes ago, it was going to be only Sam and him in this fight. “I love you”

It was the first time Steve had ever actually said it, but Tony didn’t miss a beat. “You better,” he said and Steve could hear his grin over the phone. “Now, go. You don’t have much time.”

 

* * *

 

**Now**

Tony’s body is a warm and solid presence and Steve relishes in the way his weight pushes him down against the bed. Steve touches Tony everywhere he can reach; he runs his hands down Tony’s back and through his hair and against his ass. Tony’s kissing him as if they have all the time in the world, but somehow he’s backing it up with an intense focus that makes Steve feel like he’s the most recent version of nano-tech.

Steve tries to focus on Tony’s mouth and the special rhythm he has to how he’s incorporating his teeth into the kissing, but he keeps getting distracted by Tony’s skin under his fingertips. No matter how much time they have, it will never be enough to explore it all.

If there ever was a morning for patience, this is it, yet Steve has none to give. His back arches up so that his groin rolls directly into Tony’s and their kisses turn more urgent as Tony moans. Steve feels the effect of that moan down in his toes and he does it again, but this time grabs Tony’s ass and uses it as leverage to bring them even closer. “ _Yes,_ ” Tony says with barely any air to get the word out. “Yes, _please_.”

'Pease’ is pretty much the word Steve needs to hear and he flips the two of them again so that his hands and knees bracket Tony. Tony smirks at him and runs his fingers through Steve's beard, a relic from a long mission that Tony loved, and down his bare chest before brushing his fingertips against the waistband of the boxers Steve was sleeping in. Steve leans down and runs his tongue over Tony’s bottom lip, nips at the side of it, and then kisses the spot right at the crease. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against that spot. Tony squirms under the attention and Steve kisses him hard enough that Tony can’t say anything back to refute it. “I think about that day you asked me out all the time.” They had just moved to the compound and Tony was defying their pleas to return to the team, but he somehow was always around, anyway. “You said, ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ and I’ve never forgotten that.”

Tony tilts his head, possibly to make it harder for Steve to interrupt what he was trying to say with kissing. “ _That’s_ what you think about?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Would you mind elaborating?”

Steve laughs at Tony’s indignation. “Because somedays it feels like the worst that could happen is someone will interrupt us on a morning like this.”

“That’s insane, Steve. We’re superheroes. You could die. _That’s_ the worst thing that could happen.” Tony’s serious, concerned, worried. The only indication that he had been moaning against Steve’s lips is his hard cock against Steve’s stomach.

“I could die any day, for any reason, and none of them have to do with you and me being together.” Steve bends his head down and kisses Tony’s temple. “Us? Together? There is no way that is going to make anything worse.”

 

* * *

 

**Then**

Sirens, loud and incessant, filled the airport and Steve knew he’d reached the end of his luck. It was just him, Sam, and Bucky on this mission, and at least they’d managed to make it this far without encountering Ross’s forces.

There was a Quinjet on the far side of the airport that would get them to Siberia in an hour. If they were going to stop that psychiatrist and his new team of super soldiers, the three of them would need to find some way there as quick as possible. “Suit up,” Steve instructed his friends and wondered if he should have brought reinforcements.

Steve thought about calling Tony, but he was also aware that if he did, he was just making it easier and easier for Ross to hurt Tony. It wasn’t an option. If that meant that Steve hadn't been able to find a way to tell Tony about the psychiatrist’s plan, well… maybe Steve would get lucky enough to get the chance to when everything was over.

When they reached the airfield Steve thought for a second that they’ll be able to make it over without having to fight anyone, but then he heard the familiar whirr of repulsor jets and his heart sunk. _No_ , he thought _, anyone but him_.

“Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?” Tony’s voice sounded distant and inhuman, coming through the armor’s voice modules. Steve felt disconnected from Tony without being able to see his face.

The War Machine armor touched down. “So weird.”

“Tony,” Steve began, trying to appeal directly to the man he was beginning to realize he was in love with. “You have to believe me. It’s not Bucky, it’s—”

King T’Challa, dressed in the Black Panther suit, leapt over a truck and as he landed, he said, “Captain.”

“Your Highness,” Steve replied and now he could admit that he _really_ should have brought reinforcements.

Tony retracted the faceplate, and it hurt more to see him like this. He looked older than he was when Steve saw him on the morning of the funeral. “Steve, you need to come with us. We can help you,” Tony said, and the emphasis was on the last part.

“I need to do this. It’s the psychiatrist, it’s not Bucky, it’s—”

“Do you know how hard it was to convince Ross that it should be _us_ that brings you in?” Tony gritted out. He was angry, concerned, everything Steve couldn’t fix right now.

Steve thought about how Tony said _let me protect you_. “Do you trust me?” Steve asked. Everyone else around them could not have existed for all Steve cared about at the moment. For the last half year Tony and him had shared intimacy and jokes and early morning coffees, but trust? Steve hadn’t realized until now that maybe that was something that they hadn’t reached.

Tony stared ahead, swallowed, and looked around him before closing the face plate. Steve despaired, not just for the mission, but for everything else that was now lost. “No,” Tony said.

Steve sighed and crouched into a defensive position. It was always another fight; it had been naive to assume it was going to be different this time.

“Slow your roll, Steve,” Tony said, his voice close to Steve’s ear, and Steve knew without missing a beat that Tony was piping in his voice via intercom, and that no one else could hear him. “I got this. The Quinjet is in hanger five, north runway. Let me take care of the king. We’re going to have to make this look as real as possible.” Tony put himself in position to blast him, but it was slow and deliberate, and when he finally fired the repulsor, Steve could easily deflect it with his shield. In turn, Steve ran closer and aimed a right hook at the faceplate, and Tony executed an evasive maneuver they had practiced a thousand times before. “ _Do you trust me?_ ” Tony repeated his words with humored disdain. “What sort of question is that? Of course I trust you!”

Steve wasn’t sure how Tony was directing the rest of his team, but somehow when Steve twisted away, he found little resistance from any of the other Avengers. “Sam, Bucky,” Steve said into his own microphone, and he hoped Tony was picking it up. “Target is hanger five. We have some help on the inside, but we still need to fight back. Just...don't hit too hard.”

“Wait, what? Then why is Wanda trying to blast me out of the sky?” Sam shouted over the comms. He was circling above Steve, gracefully maneuvering his way around Wanda’s hexes, but still dodging fast enough that he sounded out of breath.

“She may have not gotten the memo,” Steve said back and deflected a well delivered kick from Natasha. He had sparred with her enough that he knew _she_ was holding back. In the corner of his vision, Steve could see Tony trying to shout something at King T’Challa and doing it so that they were somehow moving away.

“I can’t hold him back without using force,” Tony said, his voice clear over the communication device. “You’re going to have to run.”

Steve did, Bucky right at his tail and Sam above him, but with every foot they gained towards to the parked Quinjet, they lost distance between them and T’Challa. He was just too fast.

Steve chanced a look behind him and knew they needed something else. “Sam!” he shouted. “We need a diversion. Tony’s going to cover us!”

“Wait, what? Stark’s helping us? I thought you said the thing between you two wasn’t serious.”

Steve _had_ said that. It had been the best description he could come up with at the time for what they were doing. But even back then, it had been a lie. “When have you known me to not be serious?”

“Good point,” Sam said, and then began to fall from the sky. Steve could see the tell-tale signs that he wasn’t _actually_ falling, but that was only because they had practiced things like this.

Behind Steve, the king made a loud ‘oomph’ sound and Sam’s wings clattered against the concrete. Steve had seen him fight, and he knew King T’Challa would be on his feet with little delay, but every second counted and it was those seconds that got him past the finish line.

 

* * *

 

**Now**

Steve nuzzles Tony’s chin, just below where his goatee gives way to skin, and Tony doesn't argue about dying or fighting each other or end-of-the-world scenarios. They have this. They have each other and a team that’s never been better and more focused. Steve’s proud of what they’ve built, even if he knows Tony’s worried about a threat Steve can only feel. But while Tony’s drive has always been able to understand and anticipate the future, Steve can only prepare for the present, only use his experiences and the knowledge of smarter people, only trust that the Avengers will always be worthy foes of whatever threatens earth.

So he tries to kiss away Tony’s worry and Tony’s frustration and everything else that bangs around in Tony’s head. Steve puts his superhuman power of focus and perseverance into tracing the sensitive parts of Tony’s neck with his tongue, running his mouth along the stretched tendon and producing a whimper of interest from Tony for his efforts.

He continues, lower, and lower—nibbling at Tony’s collarbone, shoulder, _nipple_ —until Tony’s breathing is just elevated enough that Steve knows Tony’s not concentrating on whatever he wakes up worried about. He meant it when he said _anything could happen_ , and if anything is going to happen, they have this, they have this morning, they have their skin, and lips, and fingers.

He traces the bottom edge of Tony’s boxers, feels the way his thigh muscles tighten, and kisses his sharp hip bone. His hand slides up higher and he takes good care to brush the sensitive part of Tony’s inner leg, stopping just a hair width from his balls. Tony whimpers at that, and Steve tries not stare at the way his cock is straining against the cotton. His own dick is hard against Tony’s ankle and Tony lifts his leg, just enough, that Steve feels some friction.

“I can’t believe you let me do this to you…” Steve says, right into the waistband before taking it into his teeth and then letting go, making it snapback against Tony’s skin.

Tony’s abdominal muscles contract as he laughs, but Steve doesn’t pay attention to that. “It’s a real hardship, I— _oh._ ” Steve mouths at the place the head of Tony’s cock presses against the fabric of his boxers, savoring the combination of flavors from the cotton and the little precome that’s dampened the spot. He makes it extra wet and filthy, with his eyes on Tony the entire time and as much of a smile he can manage on his mouth. Tony doesn’t break eye contact, as if they’re playing at some sort of staring contest, and Steve sees it as a challenge to try and fit as much of Tony’s cock in his mouth that he can with the fabric in the way. Tony finally bites his lip and lets his head fall back onto the pillow with a thud. “You can’t do things like that, Steve.”

“Hmmhmm, why not?” Steve says without moving far from Tony’s cock.

“Because one of these— _fuck_ —days you’re going to kill me with all the— _yes—_ teasing,” Tony manages to say even though his heart rate is up and his breathing is ragged.

Steve smirks. It’s satisfying to see Tony this affected. “So you’re saying I should stick to things like this?” he teases and uses both hands to shimmy Tony out of his boxers. The second they’re around his knees, Steve fit his lips around the tip of Tony’s cock. Tony sighs, and Steve hums in response. Without removing his mouth, he manages to completely get rid of the boxers and then use his free hands to slip between Tony’s ass and the mattress. It’s awkward like this—Steve is leaning on his elbows to keep himself upright—but he likes that he can lift Tony and guide him further into his mouth.

That’s when he has an idea.

There is no easy way to do it, but Steve slips his hands farther down Tony’s back so that he has the leverage to flip them both over. Tony’s relaxed, _pliant_ , and he flips over easily so suddenly he’s upright with his thighs are stretched wide and his knees resting on both sides of Steve’s shoulders. Steve, now on his back with Tony kneeling above him, pushes him closer so that the tip of Tony’s cock rests against his beard.

“What the fuck—” Tony asks, his voice wafting from above Steve, but Steve only responds by lifting his head and wrapping his mouth around Tony’s cock. Once his lips are stretched, he looks up to see Tony staring down in shock.

Steve hums a nonsensical answer in response and Tony laughs. He’s craning his head at an uncomfortable angle so that he can look Tony in the eye, but it’s worth it for the way Tony’s staring at him. He tries to keep his eyes on Tony’s and his mouth on his cock, but it’s almost impossible to manage for more than a few minutes, so he slips his hands under Tony’s ass one more time and encourages him to scoot up so that he’s got a knee on either of side of Steve’s neck. It’s hard to crane his head to reach Tony’s cock, but at least he gets to see Tony like this.

Tony’s keeping his hips still. Normally, Steve would encourage him to use his leverage to fuck his mouth, but that’s not what they’re doing right now. Steve uses the techniques he’d usually incorporate in an blow job—he slips between fitting Tony’s cock as far it could comfortably go, applying suction by hollowing out his cheeks, and licking along the side, as if it was an especially good ice cream cone. “Yes, just like that,” Tony says when he does the last one, just like Steve expects.

After almost two years of marriage, Steve likes to think he knows what makes Tony say things like that. He repeats the motion, this time making sure to not concern himself with the excess spit that’s building up in his mouth. Visuals matter and this one always has worked for Tony; the brain is the body’s largest erogenous zone and all that. By the way Tony’s eyes are following the trail of spit running down his cheek and into his beard, Steve knows it’s working.

Tony winds a hand through Steve’s hair. He’s not pulling, just helping Steve keep his neck stretched so he can focus more on what he’s doing. His thighs are quivering besides Steve—the angle of this is awkward for both of them, but there is a reason they like it. “Touch yourself,” Tony tells him without breaking eye contact. His breath hitches a little at the end.

Steve licks Tony from base to tip in response and moves his hands from where they’re braced against the mattresses. For the first time since he’s had Tony in his mouth, he thinks about how hard he is. He makes sure Tony sees the exact moment his hand wraps around his dick, and if he exaggerates his moan just a little bit to drive home the point? Well, it's worth Tony's involuntary gasp.

“Oh, fuck, just look at you,” Tony pants. His hips are making suggestive circular motions that cause Steve to follow if he wants to keep his lips on Tony’s cock, but Steve goes after him, ravenous and focused. He, himself, is keeping his grip light so that he might have a chance to time up his orgasm with Tony’s, but it’s hard work to have to worry about that and he finds himself stepping closer and closer with every thrust. Tony notices. “You going to come for me, Steve? Are you going to come with your tongue on my cock?” he says, awed and breathless.

It’s not lewd at all—though there is nothing wrong with lewd, lewd Steve likes very much—but right now there is nothing but love and trust and caring wrapped up in Tony’s dirty talk. Steve shakes his head in the affirmative and somehow does it without losing eye contact, all the while fucking his own fist faster. He’s half-breathing, half-moaning, all lost in the sensation of the mattress beneath him and his husband above him.

Tony begins to repeat ‘fuck’ on a loop, an almost definite sign that he’s close, and Steve keeps his focus on running his soft tongue all along the underside of Tony’s cock. “Fuck, yes,” Tony shouts and stripes of come cross Steve’s face and beard as he tries to capture as much as he can in his mouth and fails spectacularly.

That should be the moment Steve falls over the edge, that’s the fantasy at least, but instead he’s stuck right in the moment before. He’s pumping himself furiously now while Tony trembles on top of him. The sight of him should be enough alone—Tony’s eyes are closed, his breathing is loud and fast, his bottom lip is between his teeth.

“Fuck, Steve,” Tony mutters as he comes back to himself, and then adds, “Stop.” Steve’s confused for a second, but Tony reaches back to grab the hand currently working his dick and overshoots enough that he falls in some weird backward crouch. Steve sits up so that he has the right sort of leverage to help Tony from where he’s spayed across Steve’s knees. “Ow.”

“Tony, what the hell?” Steve asks, but Tony is staring up at him, satiated and happy, and possibly only minimally in pain.

“I wanna do it.” Tony isn’t slurring, not exactly, but his words lack articulation. Steve’s concern melts away as Tony picks himself up on his knees, scoots over to where Steve is sitting, and uses his hand to remind Steve that he’s still hard. Tony kisses away Steve’s gasp of pleasure and whispers, “Thank you.”

“It was… a real hardship… I’m telling you,” Steve tries to sarcastically pant, but it turns out that’s impossible, so Tony is stuck having to use the six years they’ve known each other to decipher Steve’s real meaning. Judging by the smile on his face, Tony does just fine.

Steve twines his fingers through Tony’s hair and pulls him down for a kiss. Tony keeps kissing him, on the lips and along his collarbone as Steve’s breathing gets ragged, and Steve’s just feeling it. At some point, he loses focus on the way Tony’s fingers feel wrapped around his, and is just there—a strange bodily dissociation where the pleasure is everywhere.

He comes, silent and sudden, and the way his body lights up feels like a discovery. It’s technically just morning sex—nothing special—but as Tony wraps himself around him and smirks his self-satisfied smirk, Steve’s surprised to find that there are still some things that can amaze him.

 

* * *

 

**Then**

Tony ran his fingers against a bulky machine they passed. In his head, Steve could hear Tony talking about all the Soviet technology that surrounded them and the hundred or so ways he could do it better, but Tony was quiet as he blew the dust off of what Steve assumed was an old computer that somehow took up half the room.

Bucky walked on the other side of Steve, also silent, but less interested in the surroundings. Steve had the distinct impression that Bucky was keeping his eyes forward for a reason, but Steve didn’t pry. The tension between the three of them was thick and Steve was very aware that the moment he opened his mouth, this shaky truce could be finished.

It wasn’t that Steve wasn’t incredibly grateful that Tony came to the bunker. He was a steady presence at his side and for the first time since bombs went off in Vienna, he felt grounded. But as he looked around at the ominously empty reminder of the Cold War, he couldn't help but feel afraid. Something wasn’t right here.

“I got heat signatures,” Tony said as they step into a large cavernous room.

“How many?” Steve asked, but he saw them right away—green pods, holding the soldiers they were here to stop. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the pods were still occupied.

They weren’t too late.

“Uh, one,” Tony announced, sounding less unsure in his own readings than the situation in general.

“If it’s any comfort, they died in their sleep.” That voice. Steve knew that voice. He looked to Bucky; he was stiff and his finger was on the trigger of his gun. Tony’s repulsors whirred behind him—a clear threat. From this perspective, Steve could see the bullet holes in the heads of the super soldiers they came here to stop.

Zemo was looking at them through a tiny window. There was something off about the way he was smiling at them. Bitterness, Steve supposed. He saw regret and maybe just a little madness in it, too.

Tony’s repulsors grew louder and louder and Steve recognized the sounds of what was going to be a dangerously powerful blast. “If you do that, Mr. Stark, then you’d never know why you came.”

Steve stepped closer to the window. He could see it was well reinforced and there was no way he could break in on his own. He felt a rush of gratitude that Tony was there, however. Tony could figure it out.

“I thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you’re standing here, I just realized...there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes.” The psychiatrist smiled, like the color of Steve’s eyes were a personal triumph. “How nice to find a flaw.”

The more he heard the man talk, the more certain he became that he knew the man’s accent. Steve studied him through the glass, trying to find his own flaws, anything he could exploit, but there was none to be found. From this distance, Steve could see his own reflection in the window. The color was washed out in this dim light and he realized, rather randomly, that he wasn’t actually sure about what his eyes really looked like.

“You’re Sokovian. Is that what this is about?” Steve asked, though he was very certain that _was not_ what this was about.

“Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. No. I’m here because I made a promise.”

Steve looked at him, _really looked at him_ , and realized he was still staring into his own reflection. “You lost someone.” It wasn’t a question, Steve understood the desperate actions of a man with nothing left.

“I lost _everyone_. And so will you.”

It was the certainty in the man’s face that brought Steve back to that day he woke up to a radio playing the game where Pete Reisner beat the Phillies with an inside-the-park grand slam.

 _Everyone_ , a voice repeated in his head. _I lost everyone._

Tony and Bucky moved behind him and the sound of it reminded Steve that they were still there.

That sort of loss drives you to awful places, Steve knew that, but he wasn’t standing in Time Square anymore, wasn’t still living in a SHIELD supplied apartment in Georgetown. He wasn’t alone, anymore.

Something clicked behind him and for a quick second Steve was sure they were all going to be blown to hell. But then another sound followed and he turned to see a television turning on.

“An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumples from within? That’s dead...forever.” _This is why we're here_. This is the man’s revenge.

Tony was the first one in front of the screen and he was staring at it like it _was_ a bomb. Steve followed, uncomfortable standing too far away. The video was grainy, aged, something from a security camera like you would see in an old episode of Law and Order. “I know that road. What is this?” Tony stiffened next to him. Something was off. His eyes flickered across the screen and Steve could see the moment ‘off’ turned ‘wrong’. “I know that car,” Tony whispered to himself and that’s when Steve noticed the date on the bottom of the screen.

He remembered the newspaper headline. December 16, 1991. A day Tony would never forget. The day he became an orphan.

Steve knew what they were about to watch, but before Steve could get to Tony, Tony blasted the television to dust with far more force than he needed. He was staring into the empty space left by television screen, and Steve could see the effort he was making to just stand there and stay upright.

Steve stepped closer to where Tony was standing but he didn’t touch or try to move home. He was just there. “Tony?” he asked, wanting some cue on what to do.

Tony looked up at him and caught Steve eyes for a second before turning his gaze beyond Steve’s shoulder and towards Zemo. “You can’t…” Tony shook his head. “The Avengers aren’t an empire, we’re an _idea_. One that’s bigger than you or the Accords or—” He cut off and glanced at Bucky before continuing, “—Ourselves. And I won’t let you destroy that.”

Steve expected Tony to blast Zemo or for Zemo to begin another monologue, not for King T’Challa to show up behind Zemo and grab him in a chokehold. “We are done here,” The king said, straight to the point, as always. “I have heard enough.”

“You okay?” Steve said as he turned towards Tony.

Tony didn’t say anything, but he slumped forward into Steve’s arms and held on tight.

 

* * *

 

**Now**

Steve walks into the kitchen with a damp towel around his waist and wet beard still dripping down his neck. Tony’s sitting at the table—the one with the view of the city facing south—and drinking coffee. There’s a hologram depicting the latest Quinjet designs in front of him, and for a few minutes Steve watches him through the blue light.

“I see you,” Tony mumbles into his coffee cup, one side of his mouth ticked up in an small grin. “Invisibility isn’t one of your superpowers. There’s coffee on the counter. Yankees won last night—walk-off home run.” Tony doesn’t catch his eye, but he isn’t even trying to conceal his smile. Steve knows Tony only follows baseball to annoy him, but then Tony picks up the other tablet on the table and he’s already navigated to ESPN, the modern-day equivalent of being handled the sports-section.

“Thanks,” Steve says casually as his eyes look over the stats from the west coast games he missed last night. He pours himself some coffee out of the Chemex Tony loves. “Back in my day, we were light years ahead of this technology.” Steve picks up the Chemex to make sure Tony knows what he’s talking about.

“That wasn’t coffee.” Tony takes a large gulp to prove his point. “ _This_ is coffee.” Steve shakes his head. Only Tony could invent satellites and insist on pour-over coffee when he has the time.

“Want breakfast?” Steve asks and begins to take out the frying pan from outside the kitchen island. He needs breakfast, no matter how Tony responds.

Tony doesn’t answer. He doesn’t seem to even notice him, he’s so enraptured with whatever’s wrong with his plans for the rear hatch, but Steve still feels his attention anyway. It comes with the care he brings to the team and his work and their relationship. It’s in the pictures he sends even though he’s in Australia and Steve’s in Peru. It’s in the fact that he sat down at this table to work, even if the workshop is better, because here, he’ll see Steve.

They wouldn’t always agree, couldn’t always be by each other’s side, most likely would face challenges they couldn’t weather. But, help him, Steve knows he’ll try.

It isn’t until the bacon is beginning to fry that Tony looks up from his work. “That smells…” Tony trails off, his voice covered by a sound that could be a three way tie between waves, white noise, and grinding stone. He turns around to see an orange portal open up and a strangely dressed man walking through it. It takes a few seconds to put it all together, but…

“Stephen Strange,” Steve says in confirmation. He’s been keeping a close eye on anyone with special ‘abilities,’ though he doesn’t know more than the guy has something to do with magic and that Fury labeled him a ‘friendly’.

“Correct, Captain,” Strange says, a hint of annoyance under his voice. “I need the two of you to come with me.”

“No,” Tony responds immediately. He’s wide-eyed and agitated. Steve can see thousands of scenarios flashing before his eyes, and Tony clearly likes none of them.

“We need your help. Look-" Strange shakes his head. Steve is now certain he’s not going to like anything he hears, either. “It's not overselling to say that the fate of the universe is at stake.”

“And who’s ‘we’?” Steve asks, because this is big, but it feels like it’s about to get bigger.

It does. The floor might as well drop out from under him when he sees the last person he’d ever suspect step out of the portal and behind Strange. “Hey Tony,” Bruce says, and Steve can see the relief and fear in his eyes.

“Bruce,” Tony mumbles. The scenarios in Tony’s brain have stopped. In fact, it feels like all time is stopped, as if the air stopped blowing through the vents.

 _We thought you were dead_ , Steve thinks. _Or gone forever, or something_. “Steve,” Bruce says, mostly as an acknowledgement of his presence.

Steve’s not sure what to say. The look on Bruce’s face...this was what they had been scared of, all along. “You okay?” he asks.

Bruce shakes his head as he stumbles into Tony’s arms. Tony hugs back and looks over his brow at Steve.

This is it.

Steve wishes they never left the bed.

The towel is still hanging loosely on his hips, though he’d been so shocked that he barely noticed before now. The air conditioning must have kicked in—that or Steve finally feels like he can get his breath. “I need to gather the team,” Steve says. This is was what they had planned for.

“I’ll go with Bruce,” Tony tells him, and only him. Bruce has stepped aside, and now Tony’s full attention is on Steve. “Get up to speed and all that. You put on some pants…” Tony smirks, but it is the ghost of the smirk he had earlier. “And assemble the team.”

Steve nods and Tony turns to join Bruce, walking through the portal like it’s nothing and not… a portal. Steve’s heart clenches. He can feel the fear on his skin and twisting in his gut. He needs to say something. “Call me!” he shouts before the portal closes. He means ‘call me if when you know more’ or ‘call me if something happens’ but it just ends up sounding silly, like he’s an overconfident valley girl.

Tony looks at him and laughs, just a little, just enough that Steve sees it.

Steve wants to shout out ‘I’ll be there,’ but it doesn’t matter. Tony knows that by now.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post](https://msermesth.tumblr.com/post/176039532354/just-a-saturday-morning)


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